


Show Me the Way

by feeding_geese



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:03:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeding_geese/pseuds/feeding_geese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne have just left the Capitol, a large cult housed in a secure compound in the High Desert region of Southern California. Their liasons on the outside, Haymitch Abernathy and Effie Trinket, have placed them in the homes of two neighboring families with a history of helping former cult members adjust to society outside the Capitol. But why has Katniss been placed in a family of four men?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And the World has Turned Around Again

 

  
_As I went down in the river to pray_   
_Studying about that good ol' way_   
_And who shall wear the starry crown?_   
_Good Lord show me the way!_   


 

“No one is expecting you to adjust overnight.” Our case worker, Effie Trinket, looks like she’s from another planet. Her hair is streaked with pinks and purples, like her clothing, and her long, lacquered nails look like demon’s talons. I don’t feel comfortable here, but Mr. Abernathy built this place and we trusted him to get us out. “Life outside is very,” she looks us up and down, “ _very_ different than what you’re used to. But we’ve managed to place you in some very nice homes and our staff psychiatrist Dr. Aurelius is always on call if you have any concerns. We’ll give you a stipend for new clothing and personal sundries as well as a weekly allowance, so I don’t want either of you to be concerned with money. Your host families will be paid for your room and board. If you’re having any problems settling in with them, please don’t hesitate to let us know. We’re here to help you.” Finally, she snaps our files closed and looks up with a mile-wide smile. “And that’s it! Welcome to your new lives, kids!” She hugs us tightly. She smells like excess.

I wish I was back home in the compound. Back with my mother. With Prim. But staying any longer would’ve meant that I couldn’t stay with my family anyway. I would’ve had to marry Snow. Gale and I had been talking about getting out for a while in secret, when we were on garden duty or scrubbing the animal pens. Something didn’t feel right. After Madge Undersee had left the year before, reporters had started showing up around the compound’s outer walls. Gale had always been what my mother called “dangerously curious.” When he told me he had been talking to one of the reporters, I prayed for him all night until my knees bled. Ultimately, I had to admit that I had questions myself. Snow announcing to the congregation that I would be his new wife sealed the deal. I had to get out.

The reporter, Cressida, got us in contact with Haymitch Abernathy. When I first saw him, I couldn’t believe this scruffy, unkempt mess pulled himself out of the Capitol, let alone Madge and a half dozen others. But I can’t deny that I am standing in a rehabilitation office instead of on kitchen detail. I wanted so badly to get Prim out, too. It wasn’t possible, Mr. Abernathy said, not at this point and with my mother so deeply entrenched. Gale has younger siblings, too, kids we may never see again. I’m sure when I stop being terrified of what’s become of my life, the guilt will come creeping in. Effie Trinket’s assistant Portia bustles in with more papers. I feel weighted down already with informational packets, legal documents, and a calendar with more appointments than dates.

“We’ve placed you both into nice homes for the time being. After a while, you may want to live on your own or seek out other former members, but we feel that sponsor families help make the adjustment smoother. We’ve had a lot of success with these two, and they’re neighbors, as well, so you’ll be close by, isn’t that exciting?” This woman doesn’t breathe! My own breath is a little shallow when she hands me the papers. These people will be responsible for me. I will live in their strange house. What will I have to do there? Is there a work detail? Are they religious? Mr. Abernathy says that a lot of people on the outside don’t have any sort of God at all. It might be worse than the Capitol. When I glance at the photograph, I think there must be some sort of mistake.

“Miss Trinket,” I hate that my voice sounds so small. “I think our papers are switched. These are all men.”

She reads the surname upside down. “No, that’s right. The Mellarks. We placed you there on the recommendation of Madge Undersee. She fostered with them until just recently and said she thought you would be a good fit for that family.” “A family of four men? Madge said that?” “The two eldest boys are away at school, so technically it will only be the father and the youngest except for on certain weekends. I assure you, they’ve helped a lot of families.”

“Catnip, my family has a girl and a mother. If you want to trade…” Gale’s family, the Cartwrights, looks entirely too happy. But there are two women in the house.

“I…I can’t live with just men…it’ll be weird,” I stammer, my face getting hot.

“Madge was adamant that you’d do better with the Mellarks. Mr. Abernathy agrees. But I’ll tell you what: give it a week, and if you’re not comfortable, we’ll swap you.”

I stare at the picture in the van, trying to parse out which one is the youngest Mellark. I’ve got it down to two, the one with the smirk and the one with the distracted eyes, but all three of them look alike. They’ve got to be a year apart, tops. I wonder where the mother is.

The business buildings start to fade into large homes with small, pristine yards. I wonder how many families live in each. Eventually we pull into the driveway of a lavish mansion, like the one Snow lives in. There must be two floors to this place! If just one of our host families lives here, I’ll bet every person has their own room. In the drive stands a girl made of curves. If I were to place myself on one end of a spectrum, she would be on the opposite side. Her hair is the color of wheat, except for a streak of aqua spiraling down her neck in one fat curl. The rest is worn short, dozens of perfect ringlets framing a heart-shaped face painted with soft pinks from her cheeks to her plump lips. A red and white striped sweater hangs off her shoulders, but where the sweater is oversized, the blue jeans are tight, hugging every curve down to her heeled boots. Quickly I realize that she dresses this way on purpose. Another girl stands beside her, smaller, thinner, her white-blonde hair high in two curled pigtails bouncing off the top of her head. Her lips painted a deep coral and her eyelids swept with pink. Her skirt is entirely too short and her top too low. Around her neck are draped five different necklaces and her right arm is decked in bright bangles. Gale is having a difficult time breathing.

“Gale, what’s wrong?” I whisper, concerned with the tears beginning to pool in his eyes.

“It’s Madge…”

It can’t be, yet it is. Tiny, unassuming Madge. So quiet, kind, and brave. She looks alien, but strong. Thriving. And suddenly, I’m slightly less afraid that Outside will be worse than the Capitol.

“Okay. Get out.”

I stare at Mr. Abernathy. “You—you’re not coming with us?”

“Nope. What did we talk about, kid? Full immersion.” He studies our frozen faces and sighs. “Look. You’re both smart kids. You know your brains have been a little scrambled, but the fact that you know it puts you twelve steps ahead of someone like Madge there—and I gotta say that Madge has adjusted extremely well in a year.” I can’t argue with that. She looks like she fits here. “Effie and I are gonna help. But what really helped Madge was the Cartwright and Mellark kids. So get out. I’ll see you two in the morning.” The curvy girl bounds over to the driver’s side window and begins collecting envelopes and folders as I step out of the van. I find the old, Capitol Madge in her soft smile.

“When I heard…when Haymitch told me you were leaving…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was going. Everything just happened so fast.”

“It’s okay.” I feel my wall rising to keep the pain from showing. Aside from Gale, Madge was the closest thing I could call a friend in the Capitol. I left half my rations untouched for a month after she left. “I wasn’t ready to go yet.”

“But you’re here now,” those bright lips spread in a smile. “Both of you.”  Gale hasn’t said a word. He looks angry, but I can tell there’s something else behind it, even if I don’t know what that is. In a move that’s far too forward, Madge reaches up and takes his face in her porcelain hands. “I’m sorry, Gale,” she whispers. And then I don’t know what’s happening. Gale hardly said a word to Madge in the compound. But now she acts like she’s betrayed him. He closes his eyes and presses his cheek into her palm.

“Do you all know each other?” The squeaky Outside girl smiles as the van pulls away.

Madge drops her hands. “We were all friends on the inside.”

“Oh! How nice! Madge and I have gotten really close—I hope we will too!” Her hand shoots out. “I’m Delly.” Her skin is soft and she smells like fruit and flowers. Those hands have never worked a field. “There’s supposed to be one more here to meet you, but he’s late.”

“As usual,” Madge giggles. Since when does Madge giggle? Delly whips out a thin block like the one Cressida uses and puts it to her ear like a phone.

“Peeta, where are you? Well how far away are you? Because your new foster is here and you’re late, that’s why! Four. Yes, it’s four. Look at your clock, what does it say? Exactly. So…okay, yeah, I see you now. Just pull in the drive.”

A beat up truck the likes of the haulers we had at the Capitol jerks into the driveway, orange paint chipping in places. Out of the driver’s seat hops Peeta Mellark. The one with the distracted eyes. He’s shorter than I pictured him. Taller than I am, but not by much. Broad shouldered and fair, with a mass of wheat-colored curls falling over sky-blue irises. I wonder if he and Delly are related. He looks far less put together, I think with a hint of relief. His red cotton shirt fits him well, not too tight or too loose. His jeans are worn, and there are dried splotches of paint around his pocket in a variety of colors. He walks forward with a slightly broken gait, like he banged up his shin. He bypasses me completely and makes a beeline for Madge.

“Madge!” He hugs her tightly, lifting her off the ground as she giggles again. “How goes it? How was your date with that guy…”

“Darius? Ugh. Awful. He was all hands.” The boy’s mood shifts, but Madge reassures him. “I did that move Ry taught me. Flipped him over the table!” His laugh is warm and boisterous at the same time. Delly’s getting impatient with him. I’m grateful for the distraction. I want to spend a little more time in the shadows.

“You want to put Madge down and meet the new kids?” He flushes a little and turns and we really look at each other for the first time.

“Katniss?” he breathes.

“Yes…”

“Katniss Everdeen?!” It’s almost a shout.

“Yes…” Before I know it, his arms are around me, hard and desperate. Does he greet everyone this way? I don’t like it. I don’t like being touched.

“You made it out,” he whispers into my hair.

“Yes,” I squirm. “That’s why I’m here…”

He pulls back completely, his head cocked to the side, studying me. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Should I? Were you in the Capitol?”

“We were in second grade together. Before you…you didn’t finish out the year.”

“Oh my god, you’re right!” squeals Delly. “Peeta, how did you even remember that?!”

“I dunno, I just remember you being gone and wondering why. My dad told me you moved, but then he told me later that your mom got caught up in the Capitol. I always hoped that you’d made it out.” His mouth quirks up in an awkward laugh. “Looks like you did.” I still have no idea who this guy is. I suppose everything is tainted by the Capitol, even my memories. I can see he’s finally a little embarrassed by his outburst. His foot toes at a hole in the asphalt. “So you’re staying with Delly? That’s great!”

“You didn’t read your file,” Delly sighs. “Again. She’s living with you, dingus.”

“What? No. Really?” He wipes the nerve sweat off his palm onto his jeans and extends his hand. “Well, um, since you don’t remember, I’m Peeta Mellark, and, um, welcome to your new home!”

“He really is brighter than this, I assure you” Delly rolls her eyes. That swap is looking better and better. He shakes Gale’s hand with a smile.

“Relatives?” he gestures between us.

“Friends,” Madge offers.

“Just friends,” Gale offers a little too eagerly. No one was asking.

“Oh, like Dell and me. Everyone always thinks we’re siblings. Weird how genetics works, huh?”

Delly looks at her block. “Folks won’t be home for a few hours, but I have your allowances.” She looks over our Capitol clothes. Simple, monochromatic, and, I realize, completely out of place outside the compound. “What do you say we plunge right in and get you some new clothes?” I’d rather curl up in a corner and figure out how I thought I could do this. Leaving was a mistake. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad. Being a wife would’ve meant more pull in the community. I could’ve done more for Prim. She won’t be punished for my disappearance, but both she and my mother will be shunned for months at least, which is just as bad. I feel Madge’s small arm around my bony shoulders.

“It’ll be okay, Katniss,” she whispers. “It’s going to seem scary at first, but it really is better out here. And the sooner you start making little changes, the faster Snow loses the hold he had on you.” I nod. If I want to help Prim out of the Capitol, I have to be able to function on the outside. What was point of leaving if I let my mind stay behind those concrete walls?

“New clothes sounds good,” smiles Peeta Mellark, grabbing something long and metal from the back seat of his truck. “I gotta change quick—I was out swimming.” He sits on the passenger seat and starts untying his shoe. Do people on the outside do this?! Change clothes in the open?! “Forewarning: nobody freak out, okay?” He rolls up his left pant leg and I gasp out loud. His flesh ends below his knee and turns into a long metal rod that fans out at the end, which he goes about unfastening.

“How’s the swim leg working out?” Madge acts as though this is perfectly normal. Maybe it is, I don’t know.

“Pretty well,” he smiles. “Takes a while to get used to but it’s better than the fin. I’m still a crap swimmer, but I wasn’t much good before anyway.”

“How, um…how did you…?” Part of me knows that it’s rude to stare, and ruder to ask how he lost it, but I’ve never seen someone with a mechanical body part before.

“Giant shark,” his face is stone serious until Delly smacks him upside the head.

“Car accident.”

“From a car driven by a giant shark.”

“A sixteen year old drunk girl.”

He shoots me a smile. “My version’s better.”

The two town kids climb into the front seats of the smaller automobile, Delly behind the steering wheel. I’ve never seen a girl drive before. I suppose I must have, though, in those early years before the Capitol. If Snow pulled all those memories out of me, I’m more determined than ever to retrieve them. I squint at Peeta Mellark, trying to imagine him as a seven year old boy. Then he turns to glance at me and I pretend that I can’t work my seatbelt.

“It gets stuck sometimes,” he crawls over his seat and leans uncomfortably close to me as he shifts the strap back, then forward and clicks it into place. “I still can’t believe you’re here,” he smiles. “Katniss Everdeen.” I try to smile back at him, but I’m so unhinged that it comes off tight and forced. I look over to Gale to save me from this awkward moment, but he can’t stop staring at Madge, wedged between us and jabbering away with Delly. She’s changed so much in the short year she’s been out. Gale seems to be transfixed by the amount of skin she’s showing, especially around the legs, and I hope he’s not judging her too harshly for it. Once the three blondes have reached a consensus on where to take us, Delly turns the key. The car comes alive with the fast-paced wails of a woman. Outside music. It’s hot and electric and nothing like a hymnal. Gale winces, but I want to hear more. Peeta quickly switches it off, though.

“No.”

Delly flips it back on. “Immersion, Peeta James,” she teases lyrically. He pushes the button again.

“Not a chance, Delphinium Anne. Are we in the club? No we are not. If I hear you blast Single Ladies one more time, I’m taking a hammer to your woofers.”

“Fine,” she pouts. I can see why people think they’re related. “You pick, then.”

“How about nothing,” he rests his head back against the seat. “I’m feeling a little wiped.” Delly reaches over and runs her fingers through the loose curls tangled on his head.

“Poor baby,” she coos. “Did you have a tough day slacking off?” He slaps her hand away and shoves a piece of paper at her, which I’m fairly certain she shouldn’t read while driving. After a moment, she crumples it up and tosses it on the passenger side floor before she resumes massaging his scalp.

Yesterday morning, I woke up next to Prim. I can still feel her slight arms around my middle and smell the earth in her hair. We ate with the other children before Gale and I would go to garden detail. Prim bit into her dry toast and tried to push my hand away when I slathered my butter ration over her slice. But a tiny smile pushed up, plumping her thin cheeks. Who is holding Prim now? Certainly not my mother. She’ll be praying, to show her devotion to Snow. Maybe Gale’s sister Posy, or Rory, or Vick. I want to think of all four of them holding each other, comforting each other, bolstering each other up through the shaming. We’re selfish, Gale and I. If I wasn’t such a self-centered coward, I would have waited until we all could’ve run. Now I’m adrift in this strange world with no anchor while my anchor suffers behind high walls.

I hadn’t even noticed his big hand snake through the narrow space between the seat and the door, where no one would notice, to rest on mine. Since last night, everyone’s been giving me reassuring squeezes, assuring me that everything’s going to be okay. But how do they know? They haven’t abandoned what I’ve abandoned. There’s no squeeze here, just a gentle pressure, a thumb making small circles on my skin. I look up and I see his head leaning against the window, turned so one blue eye holds mine. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he whispers.

And I believe him.


	2. I Watch Hope Come Over Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss and Gale get their first real taste of Outside.

They call it a “superstore.”

It’s taller than even the walls at the Capitol and people flit in and out with bag after bag stuffed with all manner of luxuries. Delly parks the car and turns to address us.

“We’re going to try to keep this short for a first trip. It’s going to seem daunting and excessive and just downright weird, but it’s all a part of the full immersion Haymitch talked to you about. He thinks the best way to get your feet wet is to go in up to the neck. So everybody into the pool!” I have no idea where this water metaphor is going, but I don’t have time to ponder it. He’s looking at me again.

“You got the belt alright?” Oh right. My “sticky” seatbelt. I nod silently and unbuckle.

They don’t give us any time to adjust to this alien world with so much color and sound that I feel a headache creeping up at the base of my skull. Is everyone on the Outside afraid of quiet?

“Divide and conquer,” Delly smiles, pulling out a bright red, wheeled cart. “We’ll text you when we’re done.”

“You know we’ll be done first,” smirks Peeta, leaning over his cart. “Girls take longer. Scientific fact.” Madge giggles again. Delly rolls her eyes.

“Okay, Neill DeGrasse Tyson. You text us when you’re done.” Delly sighs and rolls her cart to and fro.

He motions for Gale to follow and they disappear quickly into a sea of pants. I miss my cohort immediately. Madge's presence should be comforting, but it isn't really. She's not Capitol anymore. Just an Outside girl with the face of a friend. Gale is safety and familiarity. I want Gale.

“First things first,” Delly smiles. “We’re going to get you changed into something a little more non-Capitol.” Since we left the car, people have been staring. Children pointing and teenagers snickering. Gale’s clothing fits in better with this world, except that no one here seems to know what suspenders are for. But my gingham dress makes me look as foreign as I feel. As much as I don’t want to look like Madge, who still looks a little like a trollop, in my opinion, I want to disappear from strangers’ eyes.

As we pass through rows and rows of women’s clothing, I’m relieved to find that it isn’t all garish and revealing. There are button down shirts like the men in the Capitol would wear in a variety of colors as well as plain cotton shirts like the one Peeta is wearing. We approach what Madge tells me is a changing area and Delly leans over the counter.

“Excuse me? Hi. I’m from Victors Village. I called earlier today about bringing some people in?”  The woman behind the counter shuffles through a few papers before bringing up the appropriate notice.

“Yep. Here we are," the clerk raps her varnished nails against the counter in a way that reminds me of Effie Trinket. "So you’re welcome to take as much as you want in with you, and just show me the tags when you’re done, ‘kay?”

“Thanks,” beams my guide. As we walk away from the counter, I can hear Delly giggle to Madge, “like I haven’t done this a bajillion times! Come _on_ , lady!” They turn to me as one. “Okay, so we’re going to get you some basics for right now. You’ll be able to get more later, if you want. As I’m sure you can see, people here have several different outfits and we aren’t very restricted as to what we wear. That means if you’re comfortable in dresses, we can get you dresses, but you can wear pants, too, if you’d like to try that. This is about making your own choices. No one is dictating your clothing anymore.”

Anything I want? It hasn’t been an option before, not since I was small. I think Delly thought it would make me empowered, but I just feel lost. My Capitol clothing always made me feel weak, restrained. But at the same time, they told me what I am. I am a member of the Capitol. I am loyal to Coriolanus Snow. He is my savior, he is my all, he is lounging away in his mansion while my mother and sister eat crumbs, he is cruel, he is manipulative, he is not my God.  And he is not in charge of me anymore.  I've been repeating that last one all day, whenever I feel like running back.  If this is going to work, these clothes have to go.  Outside Katniss begins right now. Outside Katniss is going to assimilate. And Outside Katniss is going to rescue Prim.

But where does Outside Katniss begin?

Fortunately, Madge sees the confusion in my eyes. “I know you, Katniss,” she takes my hand and leads me past a display of sweaters. “We’re going to try on some pants.” They fill the cart with all manners of jeans in every conceivable color and style. Thankfully, they bypass anything with sparkles attached to the rear pockets. I’m feeling a little bolder and sort through the tops, finally settling on a cotton pullover shirt in a dark green.

“Oh that’s nice!” Delly coos. “Pick out three more.”

“That many?”

“Much more than that. I want to get you a month’s worth to start. You’ll be wearing everything much more than once,” she assures me quickly. “But it’s important that you see that you have options.” By the time the cart’s full, my head’s swimming. So it only gets worse when they put me in a fitting room and start handing clothes over the top. I slowly unbutton my dress and let it pool on the floor. It stares up at me, insisting. Ordering me to put it on. It hides my shameful body. It tells me where I belong. I kick it under the door and hear a whoop of joy from both Delly and Madge that tugs at the corners of my mouth. Madge’s pale hand thrusts something grey over the top of the door. I take it in my hands and examine it. It’s a top, made out of some stretchy material. It looks impossibly form-fitting and small. She can’t expect me to wear this out!

“It’s called a sports bra,” she whispers through the crack. “You always said you hated brassieres. I think this will be more comfortable.” I do hate brassieres. I’ve never felt I needed one, with the small mounds on my chest, but they are required after a certain age. More layers to conceal more.  I'm feeling guity for judging Madge straightaway. She looks and acts so different, but behind the Outside face I can catch hints of the Madge I knew, who barely spoke above a whisper. It speaks volumes that she remembered this intimate detail of my preferences.  Maybe she really did think of me while she lived in Peeta Mellarks house, trying to restart her life.  How did she get so good at it so quickly, though? If there's a secret to assimilation, I want in. 

It’s a struggle to get into at first, but once it’s on, I feel incredible. The chaffing’s gone and I feel covered, but freer. I spend the next hour ensuring that everything fits and confirming that I will never wear a dress again. Delly tells me to pick my favorite to wear right away, and when I emerge, she pulls the tags from the soft green tee and the worn-looking jeans. She shows the tags to the woman at the counter as we leave. The two of them toss packages of white underpants and socks into the cart. Feeling daring for the first time since I left, I pick out a pair of red canvas shoes with white plastic tips.  Oh, Snow would never approve!  I  feel wicked and free and I hope Gale has made a similar act of defiance.  Of course he has, I sniff with a grin.  Gale _loves_  acts of defiance.

The toiletries aisles are staggering. Our family shared a single bar of soap we made ourselves. The Outside girls grab a myriad of different bottles, holding them up in turn and explaining each one’s purpose. Shampoo. Conditioner. Body wash. Deodorant. Delly holds up a light blue razor. “It’s up to you, but at some point you might want to shave.” Shave? Shave what?

“Your legs and underarms,” Madge whispers as I notice her smooth legs are completely void of the soft blonde hair they carried in the Capitol.  I cringe when Delly grabs sanitary napkins, and I am made painfully aware that I will be cycling in a house full of boys. While Delly is assessing hairbrushes, I pull Madge aside.

“Effie Trinket said you told them to put me in a house with all boys,” I whisper.

“They’re a really nice family, Katniss,” she smiles quietly. “But so are the Cartwrights. In all honesty, I thought Peeta would be better for you than Delly. They both have their own methods of helping. Delly’s the pusher and Peeta’s the soother.”

“You think I’m too fragile for this? I need kid gloves?” Even as the words come out of my mouth, I don’t believe the assertiveness behind them. I feel like I’m made of tissue paper.

“I think you’d benefit more from someone less like you and more like Prim.” Prim. Left behind. Shamed. Hurting. I remind myself again that this is for her. I’m an adult now and if I get myself established out here, Prim can live with me. Mr. Abernathy said if Prim could be persuaded to leave, I could petition for legal guardianship. But I have to be able to function Outside first. So if Madge thinks Peeta Mellark can get me established, I’ll take any help he can give me.

They meet us near the front of the store and I throw a pair of pants over the more embarrassing items. Madge gives a strange squeak. Gale looks, well, _tall_. Impossibly tall. Maybe it’s the cut of the pants or the boots or the long tee shirt, but he looks a lot taller than he did when we got out of the car. He surveys me critically, and I can’t help but think that he didn’t look at Madge this harshly.

“You’re wearing pants.”

“Girls can wear pants out here,” I counter.  What happened to his sense of defiance?  Behind the compound walls, Gale was always harping on me to break little rules here or there. Now he's decided to play Capitol advocate to try to shame me back into my dress.

His face breaks in a grin before I can bite his head off. “Put the scowl away. It’s different, is all.” He loks me up and down once again and gives a slow nod.  "I approve, Catnip." He leans close while the other three head towards the front and whispers, "One day you're going to walk through the Capitol gates in those pants and give old Seneca Crane a heart attack!"

"And you'll march in beside me and we'll snatch Prim and Rory and Vick and Posy right out from under Snow's wicked nose!" His loud laugh pulls everyone's attention back to us.

Peeta points at the ground. “Hey! Shoe twins!”  How did I not notice? I look down at his feet and see a pair of red canvas shoes staring up at me. “They’re really comfortable. Well, the one I can feel." How can he keep saying things like that?  Less than two hours into this exercise and all I know about my host is that he's an inappropriate hugger and has no shame. How long did Effie Trinket say I had to wait for that swap?

They pay for our new lives with small red cards. I turn twenty shades of crimson watching Peeta pay for my underpants and sanitary napkins, but he doesn’t bat an eye. Madge and Delly keep up a constant stream of conversation as we drive away, and even Gale interjects when Madge asks about several Capitol members. Peeta sits slumped in the front seat, looking over my file. Maybe, like me, he’s wondering what he’s gotten himself into.

“Dell, stop at Ralph’s,” he says suddenly.

“What for? We just stopped!”

“I gotta pick up some stuff,” he says into the folder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to my beta princess starkist  
> This chapter is insanely short and, to be honest, I will most likely rewrite it later on.


	3. You Would've Loved It Here Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss and Gale sit down for a family meal.

He's in and out of the grocery store in a flash. I'm a little disappointed. If their general stores are so massive, what must their food stores look like? It's astounding how quickly my disgust with their excess has shifted to curiosity. I try to remember if I'd been in a grocery store as a child. I must have.

"What did you need?" Madge asks.

"Stuff," he shrugs cryptically.

  
The sun is sinking, and the outside world comes alive with electric light. The Capitol ran on a series of generators, but the light they provided was never this bright. Beside me, Madge points out various buildings and what they offer.

"That's where you get your haircut. Delly works there, but she'll do it for you for free, Katniss, if you want."

"Sure will," smiles Delly in the mirror. I have no intentions of spiraling curls popping from my head, or bright, garish streaks.

"That's a place to buy music, but everyone mostly buys digital--we'll explain digital and computers and TV--"

"Madge has become pretty tech-savvy," nods Delly.

"Madge has become pretty tech-obsessed," Peeta corrects.

"And whose fault is that?" Madge nudges his arm before launching forward. "Ooh, In-and-Out! Peeta! You HAVE to take Katniss to In-and-Out!"

"Okay, okay!" he laughs, prying her fingers away from his bicep. "I promise, as soon as her stomach's adjusted, I will take Katniss to In-And-Out." Satisfied with the plans they've made for me, Madge settles back between me and Gale.

"You'll love food out here, Katniss! It can be pretty rich, though, so you need to acclimate first. I think you'd really like sushi, Gale," she sighs. "It's a challenge."

"I think I remember sushi." Gale came into the fold two years later than Madge and I did. I bet he remembers more. It would certainly explain his eagerness to get out, but he seems more taken aback by the outside than I am.

"Do you remember liking it?"

"Not particularly." Madge's smile falls until she picks up on something else to gush over.

  
There are two additional automobiles at the Cartwright house as we approach. As soon as we pull alongside the house, a thick blonde woman pokes her head out a window on the first floor.

"Peeta, be a dear and move that bucket back to your drive, will you?"

"Sorry! Sorry!" He hops out of the car and into the truck, which grinds to life. He pulls out only to pull into the house directly next door with no other vehicle present. His father is not home. I will be going to my new home in the dark, alone. With Peeta Mellark."Looks like my dad's pulling a late shift," he shrugs, running a sheepish hand through his hair. "We'll, um, eat at Delly's if it's okay with you." It takes everyone's concentrated stares for me to realize that he's asking me. I shrug and nod my head at a tree.  
I snap beans with a practiced rhythm as Gale pulls florets off a head of cauliflower.

"Remind me how we ended up here?" he whispers over the sink.

"You said we should run. I said okay."

"You think we made the right choice?" he looks over his shoulder to the Cartwright children setting a large table while their parents cook. Peeta took my bags out of Delly's car and hasn't returned. I cringe thinking that he might be folding my underwear as we speak.

"I think it will be. Eventually. Just keep thinking of getting the kids out."

  
The Cartwrights seem like a decent family. Mr. and Mrs. Cartwright welcomed us warmly into their home, glistening and huge. A few family pictures dot the walls, but it is otherwise sparsely decorated. I'm comforted by its simplicity. They allowed us to help prepare dinner, noting that they had no intention of breaking us of rituals that might bring us ease. I feel a little like a clay pot that they feel might shatter if I was handled improperly.

"You'll have your chores around the house, Gale," grins the ever-smiling Mrs. Cartwright. "And the Mellarks will have similar expectations of you, Katniss. But we want to stress that it's just helping out a bit and to, erm..."

"--wean you off forced labor," Delly chimes in from the table. I bristle.

"It wasn't forced labor," I argue. "It was helping our community. We couldn't all be lazing about while others did everything for us!"The room freezes. I've insulted them, and now they'll toss me out of their home and Peeta Mellark won't open his door to me, and I'll be forced to go back and marry Snow. And Prim will be stuck there forever.

"Of course, Katniss," Mrs. Cartwright coos, taking the beans from my tight fingers.

"I jumped the gun," Delly says by way of apology. "You seemed a little...at Target...and I..."

"She's right," Gale breaks in. "Catnip, she's right. It was forced labor. We were helping the community, but what was Snow doing in his mansion while we broke our backs? And you know none of us saw a fraction of what we grew. It was all to keep us weak; keep us under his heel."

I remember hunger. The feeling that I had just enough to keep me going. There was never anything extra, but I always gave more to Prim. I look at the food being laid out before me. Nothing held back. This is how families should eat. Peeta returns right as we're sitting down.

"What were you DOING?" Delly laughs. "We weren't sure you were coming back!"

"Sorry," he slides into his seat. "The place was kind of a mess."

Delly's eyes narrow."I don't like this forgetful streak you're developing."

"Delphinium," her father murmurs as he pours water from a carafe. "Dinner time is not interrogation time. We have guests." Things settle and Peeta stops squirming in his seat across from me. Delly's mother asks her brother Linus, a year or two younger than Prim, to say Grace. I take Gale's hand in mine and squeeze. Since I'm at the end of the table, Peeta stretches his hand across and offers it to me. My fingers twitch a little, but at least he's not looking at me, instead laughing at something Madge said. But when I place my palm against his, his fingers close around mine instantly. He's got little calluses on his thumb and index finger and his cuticles are a little rough, but otherwise pretty soft and warm. Not like Gale's hard hands. Or my own, covered with cuts and calluses and dried skin.It's different from the Grace I'm accustomed to, I suppose because their messiah isn't sitting up on a dais before them. 

The tow-headed boy asks God to bless their meal, and their family and friends, and us, and our families as well.

"And please, Lord," I hear a smirk in his voice, "help Peeta get his act together." The table jumps slightly and I realize that Peeta has kicked the boy underneath it. They all laugh out an "Amen" and dig in. Mrs. Cartwright fills both our plates with more food than I could possibly eat, but far less than everyone else is taking.

"Go slow," she warns in a sweet tone. "Small portions to start."

"Don't worry about not finishing," laughs Madge through a roll. "It won't go to waste. Peeta's a garbage disposal!"

"A what?" Our refuse was composted, and I have no idea what that has to do with my host.

"She means I have the propensity to eat a lot," he sighs around a grin. I can't even imagine a situation where I'd have the opportunity to eat "a lot."I look down at my plate and savor the smells that have been invading my nostrils for the past hour. Meat. We had meat at the Capitol, but not much and not often. Gale and I have a fraction of what the others do, an entire chicken's breast apiece. Theirs is coated in spices as well, but ours look bare. I remember what Madge said about our stomachs adjusting to the rich outside food and cut a small piece.

I don't know if I can savor all the flavors at once, my tongue isn't big enough. The chicken is juicy and salty. It falls apart in my mouth and though I try to chew it slowly, I end up inhaling it. The vegetables are crisp and saturated with lush butter and the potatoes...I don't have words for the potatoes. I end up scooping a combination of flavors onto a buttery roll and savoring them all at once, hoping no one notices my eyes rolling back into my head. But when I lift my eyes from my empty plate, I find my host's eyes smiling at me.

"You like food," he says quietly, keeping our conversation separate from the louder one at the other end of the table.

"Of course I like food," I whisper defensively. "I've been half starved most of my life." He sneaks a cautious glance down the table and cuts a small piece of his spiced breast and sets it on my plate.

"I mean, you really like food. You don't just eat it. You taste it, enjoy it." He gestures at the gift he's left. "Try that." I lift the fork to my lips and my mouth explodes. My eyes grow wide, and I almost moan. It's so good. So many layers of goodness. I wrap my tongue around it in my mouth, and, when I finally get to chewing, I do so very, very slowly. His grin has now stretched to encompass his entire face."I can't wait until your stomach adjusts, Katniss Everdeen," he's almost giggling. "You and I are gonna have a lot of fun!" I can't help the buildup of heat in my cheeks as he loads my plate a second time, still with small servings of the blander food, and serves himself two heaping spoonfuls of the potatoes. "I, uh, really really enjoy eating," he says, suddenly shy.

"Your father working late again, Peeta?" He snaps to attention and turns to Mr. Cartwright, the grin shifting slightly.

"Uh, yeah. Wedding season's ramping up, and Yelp started blowing up with good reviews, so he's pretty busy. He'll probably pull me in for duty in a couple of weeks."

"You don't sound too excited," Mrs. Cartwright says to the beans.

"I hate brides," he laughs. "With a passion. There's always something wrong. Like last season, this one lady didn't like my magnolias--they were too fat or skinny or I don't know, but she spent an hour screaming at me how these damn--" he flits his eyes between Gale and myself, "--these stupid flowers were going to ruin her wedding. If it was Ry, he would've told her to fu--fall off a cliff. But it's good money, so I just ended up letting her scream."

"Ugh," Delly moans. "That poor guy who married her!"

"She's probably just lovely, Delly" her mother tuts. "Weddings are stressful."

"No, thank you," Peeta downs his water. "My time comes, we're going to the courthouse. Sign some papers, and done."

Mrs. Cartwright laughs."I'm sure your bride would have a word or two to say about that!"

"If she wants a big, stressful wedding, she can marry someone who also wants a big, stressful wedding. I am not frosting my own cake."

I notice that Gale's hand has slipped down to encompass mine. If we hadn't left, I'd be a bride next week. Everyone I know saw it as the highest honor bestowed upon a woman in our community, but even when it was announced, I had difficulty keeping the bile down. It was my first real inkling that I didn't belong there. At least I don't have to worry about Prim. My family's tainted now by my abandonment. Thankfully, everyone seems oblivious to my sudden loss of appetite, though Peeta takes the last spoonful of potatoes from my plate and swallows it with a cautious smile in my direction.

After Peeta and Linus have cleared the table, Delly and Madge wash the dishes while Gale and I dry. The Cartwright parents take Gale's new belongings up their stairs, past pictures of their children in various states of growth.When they descend again, it becomes clear that now is the time for me to leave with Peeta. Madge declares that she is spending the night with Delly, which raises my temper because if there's anyone here who could use Madge's company, it's me. But she doesn't suggest it and I just stand in the entryway dumbly while everyone says their goodbyes. Gale shoots me a look that boosts my confidence. If anything seems fishy at the Mellarks, Gale will be over in a flash. I nod in understanding.

The orange truck remains the only vehicle in the Mellark driveway. Peeta sighs at the empty spot.

"Sorry about my dad. I know he'd really want to be here when you showed up. Truth is, he probably won't be around much for the next few weeks." Splendid. Me and a strange boy who looks like he could throw me over his shoulder like a flour sack, missing leg or no, taking up space in the same house. Even if he does make a nice impression, I'm taking that swap at the end of the week.

He digs around his pocket for a tangled set of keys. But instead of opening the door, he continues to dig until he pulls out another key. He hands it to me.

"This is your key. Madge picked out the keychain at the store. She said she remembered you liked ducks."I blink back the tears as I stare at the tiny yellow duck in my hand. Prim is my little duck, with her blouse always peeking out the back of her skirt like a tail. I order myself to drink in this world, assimilate quickly so Haymitch will start the wheels turning to get her away from the Capitol. We're going to have our own little place, her and I. I'll send her to school and she'll be brilliant at it. We'll eat our dinners just the two of us until we burst with fullness. Then fall asleep in the same bed, knowing that we'll always be there for each other.

"You okay?" Peeta Mellark asks, and I snap out of it.

"Yeah. It's just been a while since I had a key." It's not really a lie. In fact, I don't think I've ever had a key to anything before.

"Then by all means," he steps aside and makes a flourish towards the door. I fit the key into the lock awkwardly and turn. I know this smell. Vanilla and butter; sweet. And the whole house is permeated with it. There was a story my father told me when I was small about a house made entirely of desserts. Maybe this is where I am now. Maybe if I lick the walls I'll taste what I'm smelling. If my host knew what I was thinking, he'd think I was crazy.

Peeta turns on a light. Unlike the Cartwright's clean walls, every open space in the Mellark house seems covered with something. Family photographs, landscape paintings, awards and diplomas. They've plastered their lives on these walls. I could probably learn everything there is to know about the Mellarks from their mantle alone.

"Have a seat," he motions to a stool in front of a high counter dividing the kitchen from the dining area. I do as I'm asked, letting my eyes flit over the Mellarks' lives while he rummages around in the kitchen. Four men. Sometimes just boys, or boys with a man or all men, but just the four of them. It's as though the mother does not exist. Maybe she died.

"So I'll show you around in a bit, but I wanna do something first." He's being cryptic again, with his back turned to me, huddled over something on the counter.  I hear the scratch of a match and smell sulfur.If I screamed, surely Gale would hear me.

"What do you want to do?" I swallow.

"I was looking through your file, and I noticed that it's May eighth." The date is significant for some reason. Why? Why can't I remember what today means, besides the beginning of either a great success or a monumental failure? He turns around and he has a spongy little cylinder on a plate. It's a cake. Lord in Heaven. I haven't seen a cake in ages. A single, tiny candle peeks out the top and he's lit it.

"Happy eighteenth birthday, Katniss Everdeen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta princess starkist is magic.   
> In-And-Out is a California burger chain that makes its burgers out of dreams and angels' tears.


	4. No Funny Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss gets settled in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Peeta is cleaning to is "Paper Planes" by MIA.  
> Thanks again to beta princess starkist!

"Do you remember what you're supposed to do?" He's watching me intently as I try to fight the smile creeping into my cheeks. 

  
"I'm supposed to...blow out the candle." He rewards me by placing the cake in front of me. I feel a little like a dog who's been given a treat for obedience, but the smell of the cake is dulling the insult. I move to blow out the flickering light when I'm stopped by another memory, something else I'm supposed to do. I screw my eyelids shut, think of Prim, and blow. 

  
"What did you wish for?" he asks in the darkness behind my lids. 

  
"I can't tell," my eyes dart to his. "Otherwise it won't come true." The smirk on his lips grows to a full smile. He has one canine tooth that's slightly crooked. 

  
"You remembered! I wasn't sure if you would!" I remember to scowl now. 

  
"So this was a test? To see how messed up I was?"

  
"No!" his hands fly up in defense. "No! Man, that came out wrong...I just...I just saw it was your birthday and thought that you hadn't had a cake to celebrate in eleven years."

  
It's true. We don't celebrate birthdays in the Capitol, aside from Snow's. I have fuzzy memories of parties with presents and sweets meant just for me, but they were deemed frivolous by my Capitol teachings. 

  
"I would've brought it next door, but Delly's mom would've had a field day. You're not supposed to have refined sugar for two more weeks. Though Madge will tell you I tend to bend that rule." He pulls the candle out and cuts a small slice, pushing the plate my way. "My family owns a bakery. This place is nothing but sweet stuff! And I don't think it's fair to stuff my own face when you can't partake." He plunges his fork into the slice he's placed on his own plate. 

  
"You're saying you can't go two weeks without some kind of refined sugar?" _Eat an apple or something_ , I scoff to myself. 

  
"I tried with Madge. Really tried. But my dad brought home these eclairs and my sweet tooth got the better of me."

  
"Why not eat it by yourself, then?" Hoarding food is something I'd never think of doing at the Capitol, but out here, with so much abundance, I could see it as an option. 

  
"I told you, I don't think it's very fair. Besides, good food is always better when you share it with someone else." He gestures at my plate with his fork, prompting me to eat. 

  
It's so sweet it practically burns. I end up having to spit half of it back onto the fork. 

  
"Not good?" he asks with concern. 

  
"No," I swallow. "Really good. Just too much." I go slow on the next bite, taking in just a little. A lush sweetness sweeps over my tongue, made rich by butter and vanilla, flavors that feel like old friends I haven't seen in ages. There's a little lemon there, too, creeping up from the back. I roll it around in my mouth until the spongy moistness of the cake has practically dissolved and the whole thing slides down my throat with a sigh.   
  
I open my eyes and he's watching me again. But there's no giddy smile like there was at dinner. Instead he's studying me with an almost sad expression. It's pity. And it takes all the joy away from the cake.   
  
"Stop watching me eat," I say coldly. I don't care if I am a guest in this house. He has no right to stare like that. To pity me.   
  
His eyes dart away and he rubs at the back of his neck. "Sorry," he murmurs. "I'm just... sorry you haven't had cake in so long."  
  
"People can live without cake, you know," I huff, maybe feeling a twinge of guilt for making him feel bad. It was a nice gesture, after all.  
  
"Not just cake," he continues, staring at the cabinets. "Everything. It's not pity, if that's what you think. I'm just...sorry, that's all." He sighs and wraps a thin film of plastic over the cake and puts it in the refrigerator. If this is going to work, I realize that I'm going to have to make a few concessions. The first being to remind myself to stop defending the Capitol. And maybe act a little more grateful.   
  
"Thank you." It's easier to say when his back is turned. "For the cake. And for taking me in."   
  
"You're welcome," he says with a cautious smile.   
  
He pours two glasses of milk, and by the time he returns to the counter, it's as if the last five minutes never happened.   
  
"So let's get down to business, Katniss Everdeen."  
  
"Why do you keep calling me that?" I blurt out.   
  
"Well, uh," he runs his hand through his hair. He does that a lot. "This is kind of the awkward phase. I mean, I could call you 'Miss Everdeen,' but it's kind of formal. Whatever you're comfortable with, though. If you want me to call--"  
  
"You can call me Katniss, I guess."   
  
"Ok." His smile is small and quiet. "First names, then."  
  
"Ok... " He raises his eyebrows, prodding me to say it. "Peeta."  
  
"All right, Katniss," he leans his forearms on the clean white tiling. "What's your end goal? What is it you want from the Outside?"  
I'm taken aback by his choice of words. That's our word, ‘Outside.’ Then again, Miss Trinket had said he'd been doing this for some time.   
"I don't mean to pry, but I need some semblance of your plans so I know how to assist in your adjustment." It sounds like a practiced line of questioning. Even with his relaxed stance, his laughing eyes have become all business. I am a project of Victors Village. But if I want what my heart desires most, I'll have to accept some level of charity. I already have. I'm wearing their clothes and their food fills my belly. Somewhere down the line I'll have to figure out some form of repayment. Right now, I have only what they give me. I'll have to constantly remind myself to suck it up if this is going to work.   
  
"My sister. I want to get my sister out."   
  
He stands up thoughtfully. "How old?"  
  
"Fourteen."   
  
He nods slowly. "Just your sister?" It's the same question Mr. Abernathy asked me. _Just your sister?_ I don't have to wait for him to voice the second half of the question.   
  
"My mother's too far gone, I think," I mutter, pushing cake around with my fork. She'll never leave. That place has more of her heart than Prim or I will ever have. 

  
"I get it." 

  
My eyes snap up to his, suddenly burning. "How could you possibly 'get it?'" I'm practically spitting. 

  
His eyes dart around the room, seeking anything but my face. "Have- uh, have you ever heard about District 13?" 

  
I shake my head. 

  
"No, huh? Sometimes Capitol people will know a little about it. It's another religious compound, out in Arizona?" 

  
Another shake. 

  
"Well, um, that's where my mother is. Has been since I was six." His eyes slide back to mine. "So I get it."

  
I feel like slamming my forehead into the counter. How many people has this boy helped, seeing his own mother in their fanaticism, maybe wishing it was her he could save? I'm bright red with shame from head to toe. He jabs his fork into his cake and takes his time chewing, letting me stew.   
  
"You don't have to feel sorry for me," he swallows. "I'd rather you didn't. I just wanted you to know I understand."  I nod, still too ashamed to look at him.   
"So your sister didn't want to leave?"  
  
I shake my head. "She buys everything they feed her. I can't blame her. I did, too, until last month."  
  
"What happened last month?"  
  
"Snow said I was going to marry him."   
His fork drops to the floor. He lets loose a muffled curse and spends a few minutes bending down to retrieve it. When he reemerges, his face is flushed from more than exertion. "You were going to be an avox?" he breathes.   
  
"A what? No, I was going to be a bride. Snow's wife."  
  
"That's what he calls them," he stammers. "At least the ones who don't behave. Shit, Katniss... I mean... fuck..."  
  
I don't know what I said to set him off. He was so careful to watch his language at dinner and now with one sentence I've reduced him to a puddle of swears. He sees the confusion on my face and composes himself with a heavy sigh.   
  
"Sorry, I... I fostered an avox once. It's..." Another sigh. "I was glad you got out anyway, but now," he reaches across the island and grabs my hands, squeezing tight. "I'm just really glad you're here and not there, is all."   
I wish he'd just stop touching me. "Why? What happens to them?" From my perspective they were just like the rest of us. They ate a little better, held a little more sway, but other than being very quiet they seemed fairly normal.   
  
"Don't worry about it," his smile is tight and forced. "It's not going to happen to you ever. So we're going to get your sister..."  
  
"Primrose." He's changed subjects so quickly, my head's spinning.   
  
"Primrose out. Which means you have to get established. Tall order, but not impossible by a long shot. Though if she decides she wants out before then, Haymitch can work around the courts. We'll take her in no problem. It's just easier if you can prove you're a competent legal guardian."  
  
He pulls out the folder I've come to associate with my new life. We go over my schedule, basic educational classes, finance and life-planning courses, therapy sessions, there's free time in the afternoons where Peeta and Delly will work to acclimate us. He gives me the rules for the house. I'm only expected to pick up after myself. No kitchen duty.   
  
"No offense," he insists. "I just get a little territorial about my kitchen."   
That suits me fine. I was never really accomplished at it. Whenever I had kitchen duty, the other women would relegate me to peeling potatoes. He's showing me a series of recovery books that Effie Trinket swears by but Haymitch Abernathy calls horse wallow when I feel my eyelids droop. "Katniss?" They flash open.   
  
"Sorry!" A thick yawn breaks through my lips. "Sorry."   
  
His eyes shift to the clock on the wall. "I didn't realize it was so late. It's way past lights out for you, isn't it?"   
  
We're usually curled up in bed shortly after sunset, with the sounds of the other women lulling Prim and I to slumber. What sounds will accompany my sleep in this house?  
  
"We can go through all this in the morning. I'll show you your room."  
  
I watch him pull himself up the stairs by the handrail, his arm straining lightly with a practiced effort.   
  
"When did you lose it?"   
  
He glances down as it lands on the next step loudly. "At sixteen. My dad says it actually didn't make me any louder," he chuckles. "It took a while, but I'm pretty used to it now."  
  
In the course of a day I've left my world behind. The only thing tethering me to reality anymore is the boy next door. Even now, with my life in limbo, I can't help but wonder how someone "gets used" to losing a piece of themselves.   
  
He turns the knob to my room. My own room. Inside is a bed designed to hold one person, the intent being that I will be the only one sleeping in it. There's a wooden shelf stacked with books. Secular books. A table and chair with pen and paper set beside a tiny lamp with images of whales on the shade. A second lamp, with a bulbous glass bottom painted to look like a bowl of goldfish, sits on a low table next to the bed. A closet and a dresser to house my new clothes which remain untouched in their white plastic bags on the soft carpeted floor.   
  
He shows me how the plastic hangers work, although if I wish to fold them and place them in the dresser, that's fine too. He tells me he took the liberty of removing the tags from shirts, pants, and socks, and placed all my toiletries in the bathroom across the hall.   
  
"There's a lock for privacy, but I promise everyone in this house knocks on a closed door and waits for permission to enter." There's an implication that I'm meant to do the same and I nod to show I understand. "My room is next to the bathroom on the left, if you need anything."   
  
I try not to think of a time when I would need anything from Peeta Mellark's room.   
  
"There's instructions for the bathroom. Toilet's the same as the Capitol, but there's a guide next to the shower. Don't hesitate to ask if it's tricky," he grins with that off-center tooth. "I set out towels for you, too. So that's about it for tonight," he sighs, swinging his arms. "I'll leave you to it." He pauses in the doorway, a look in his eyes I can't quite decipher. "Goodnight, Katniss Everdeen."  
  
"Goodnight, Peeta Mellark," I feel the corners of my mouth quirk upwards as he closes the door behind him.   
  
I wait until I hear his heavy, uneven tread thump down the stairs before I slip out the door and across the hall into the bathroom. It's so decadent. There's a big bathtub below the shower and a door that slides open and shut. When I push it aside slowly, trying not to make any noise, I see the array of shampoos and soaps Delly picked out for me hanging from a little basket by the shower head. Underneath it is another basket full of half-emptied bottles. It must be Peeta's. Before I can tell myself how inappropriate this all it is, I pop the cap off of each one in turn and sniff, trying to figure out anything I can about my host by the way he prefers to smell. One's a little like cucumber and the other kind of musky, but not in an unpleasant way. I open my own bottles and sniff, thinking that this is what I'll smell like after tomorrow. Lavender and strawberries. Not the combination I would've picked. I would've gone for something more earthy, like in the other basket. But I suppose those smells are reserved for boys out here.   
Their toilet paper is so soft!  
As I wash my hands with soap that smells like lemons, I see a fresh toothbrush still in the package laid out on the sink next to a new tube of toothpaste. I unwrap it carefully -- I want to keep the package. The paste is smooth and minty, not grainy with the harsh taste of baking soda. I wonder if I should repackage the brush when I see three other toothbrushes sitting in holders on the wall. There are strips of white tape above them. One reads "Peeta" and the others "Ryker" and "Willem," the absent brothers. Two slots sit empty. Over one, in neat, fresh handwriting, I see "Katniss," accompanied by a little smiling face. Maybe Madge is right. Maybe I'll do better with the soother. I wonder how Gale's getting on with the pusher.   
I'm heading back to my room when I hear strange music wafting up from downstairs. Inching slowly towards the staircase, I can just make out his curly blond head through the gaps in the banister. I lower myself to the floor, hugging my knees tight against me, and I watch him clean up. I can't understand a word the woman's saying, but it's hypnotizing, her rhythmic chanting alongside sharp chings and what sounds like gunfire.   
  
Between the music and the soft clinking of glass and pulling of drawers, I'm in danger of falling asleep in the hallway until I hear the front door close.   
  
"'Lo, Pop." It's Mister Mellark, home from his bakery. I strain my neck a bit to catch a glimpse. Like his son, he doesn't appear to be very tall, but he's plenty wide. His head is topped with slightly less hair than in his photographs.   
  
"Hey there, Peets. You have company?" Peeta wipes his hands on a towel.   
  
"New foster, remember?"   
  
The older man sighs and rubs at his forehead. "Shit...I'm sorry, boy. I thought it was next week."  
  
"S'okay," he shrugs. "Delly and Madge helped set her up."  
  
"Another girl, huh?"  
  
"Effie says she prefers placing girls here. Guess I just click better with girls."  
  
"She nice?"   
There's a long pause. Does he think I'm not nice? I've been told in the past that I'm standoffish. What could he expect, though, honestly? I've been uprooted! I bet even Madge didn't greet him with that bubbly smile she's been wearing all evening!  
  
"Pop, it's Katniss Everdeen."   
  
An even longer pause from the elder Mellark. Surely he's confused. He can't remember me from second grade as well. It's impossible. But Mister Mellark breaks the silence by taking his boy into his arms and holding him tightly. I wasn't certain my day could become any more surreal. Their voices are softer and I have to strain to hear.   
  
"...and her mom?" What about my mother?  
  
"Still in. Sister too."  
  
Mister Mellark nods slowly. I rack my brain trying to remember this family. There is no way they could know so much about my family if I didn't know them in some small capacity.   
  
"She doesn't seem to think her mother will leave. She wants to get her sister out."  
  
"Well one's a start," he passes to the refrigerator, patting his son on the shoulder. "One's a start."  
  
I'm far too tired to process this. I scoot backwards until I'm well out of sight of the stairwell and enter my room.   
  
My room.   
  
I should put my belongings away, but I just dig through the bags until I find the soft sleep pants and top. The one article of clothing I deal with is my Capitol dress, balled up in the corner of a bag. I toss it, rumpled and rolled, into the farthest corner of the lowest drawer of the dresser.   
  
Suddenly I'm at an impasse to sleep. Normally, I'd kneel at the foot of my bed along with the other women and children in the hall and pray. I know what I want to pray for, but who do I pray to? Should I even pray at all? I run my fingers along the spines on the bookshelf until I find an outside bible. I flip through the passages, looking for something I can use.   
  
"Did you finish your prayers?"   
  
I jump at the voice from the window. I pull back the curtain to see Gale at the window across the way. If we reached out, we could almost touch.   
  
"I don't know who to pray to," I admit sadly. "Only who not to."  
  
"I've been reading this book," he holds up the twin of the book in my hand. "You read it yet?"  
  
"Not yet."  
  
"So..." he turns the book over and over in his hands. "You alright? With that Mellark kid?"  
  
"Yeah, he's alright." I stare at the sill before meeting his eyes -- gray, like mine. "He, um, he made me a birthday cake."   
  
Gale's eyes grow wide. "Is it your birthday, Catnip?"  
  
"I guess. That's what my file said."   
  
His smile stretches across his entire face. "Happy birthday."  
  
"Thanks," I roll my eyes, feeling a genuine, happy smile. I want to reach across the houses and take him in my arms. My dear, dear friend. "I've got my own bed. Do you have your own bed?"  
  
"Yeah," he looks behind him. "Own bed. Own room..."   
  
Isn't it wonderful? Freedom and privacy and a place you can call your own?   
  
"Feels lonely."   
I freeze.   
  
"Delly's brother? Linus? He reminds me of Rory. I miss them."   
  
All of a sudden, I can't meet his eyes anymore.   
  
"But we're gonna get them out. This is the start of something better for all of us."  
  
We tell each other goodnight and I crawl under the covers, switching off the lamp to plunge the room into darkness. I sink deep into the soft mattress surrounded by the warmth of fluffy blankets that smell clean and fresh. I lie in my own bed, awash in shame, and think of Prim, huddled in the cold of the desert without me. 


	5. Say Say Oh Playmate

I rest my forehead against the cool tiles and let the steam of the shower envelope me, drops of hot water splashing my side. Waking up is difficult after a night of troubled sleep. Each day I feel renewed, invigorated and ready to face each challenge that assimilation brings. It's in the darkness that I can't stop thinking about Prim. How I abandoned her. Even if it's ultimately for her own good, I should've waited. Though Peeta's reaction to my marriage plans that first night makes me think that maybe it was better not to stay.

 

I keep expecting a light rap on the bathroom door. It's Peeta's signal that I have to get a move on. But it doesn't come. There's a comfort level growing between us, not that it isn't still strange living in his house. My second week, we bumped into each other on a midnight run to the toilet. In my sleepy haze I forgot about the closed door rule and as my hand fell on the knob, it turned in my palm. I was startled when I was met with his scruffy, disheveled face, his eyes already half closed.

 

"S'all yours," he yawned, and hopped down the hallway on a sturdy metal crutch, the left leg of his sleep pants dangling free.

 

Even without the knock, I know that it must be getting late. I lather up quickly. Once Delly realized I wasn't really a lavender and strawberries kind of person, she swapped out my shampoo with something that smelled like spring rain and my lavender wash with sandalwood. The smell triggers a memory long locked away of a cabin by a lake. I'm sure I went there with my father, but the image is so dim that I can't be saddened by it.

 

By the time I dress I realize that it's far later than I thought. Peeta isn't one to oversleep. In fact, when I'm coming downstairs he's usually just back from a jog or a swim or something to prove he's not an invalid, I guess. I pull back my curtain to see Gale's window shut for the day. He’s already gone.

 

We are beyond late.

 

I rush down the hall towards the stairs, almost tripping on Peeta's mangy orange cat in the process. My haste is rewarded with a hiss as he lumbers to Peeta's room.  Apparently the cat loves Madge.  He hates me.  I half expect to find Peeta in a state of frenzy when I get downstairs, switching out his legs or digging for his keys in an attempt to get me to Victors Village at a reasonable time.  I have a set of scheduled meetings and classes several times a week.  Mostly it volleys between Atala showing me and Gale survival basics like budgeting and societal expectations or Beetee and Wiress, our appointed instructors, teaching us all the math, english, history, and science we’ve missed by being denied an education outside of the compound.  Then it’s sessions for the rest of the day with Dr. Aurelius, both private and together, meant to deprogram us.  Haymitch calls it “hijacking back.” Since it’s just the two of us, I won’t be punished for being tardy.  I will have to put up with Effie Trinket tutting and Haymitch rolling his eyes as I slink through the center doors.

 

I don’t hear any rushing or throwing bags together or even swearing down on the first floor.  I hear music.  And smell meat.

 

_Take the world, shake and stir and that's what I got goin' on._

 

He doesn’t even hear me pass through the living room as he moves around the kitchen, singing quietly to himself.

 

_I throw my cares up in the air and I don't think they're comin' down._

 

 I like the way his voice sounds.  In the short time I’ve been here I’ve heard it on a few occasions, when there’s a song in the car that he likes, when I pass by the bathroom and he’s still in the shower, when he’s cleaning up at night after he thinks I’ve gone to bed.  He sings.

 

_Yeah, I love how it feels right now._

 

It’s sweet and soft and in the middle range, and breaks when he tries to hit the high notes, like he’s doing now.

 

_This is the life! Hold on tight! And this is the dream--it's all I need!_

 

If we were home, he would be in the choir with me.  I give my head a violent shake and pinch myself hard like I always do when I think of the Capitol as my home, as a place where I belong.

 

_You never know where you'll find it, and I'm gonna take my time, yeah. I'm still gettin' it--_

 

"We're late," I tell him, pulling up a stool at the high counter. A pancake hits the side of the griddle as he jumps. I never realized how quiet my steps were until I shared a space with someone who tromps around wherever he goes. He recovers quickly enough and pours me a glass of orange juice.

 

"No Victors Village today," he smiles at the glass.  "Haymitch thinks that since I used to know you, maybe I should try to jog your memory a little."

 

Haymitch's idea shouldn't feel strange to me, but in the month I've been in the Mellark house, Peeta has barely mentioned our past together.  I had come to the conclusion that the conversation I overheard my first night was a fluke, a moment born of shock. Peeta Mellark was just a boy in my class who, every now and then, wondered why I went missing.  So I'm curious what Haymitch thinks he knows about me.

 

He sets a plate piled high with pancakes in front of me.  It's far more than I usually get for breakfast.  There's none of the meat I smelled, however, and I think Peeta can see the confusion on my face as I try to look behind him into the pan on the stove.

 

"There's bacon in the pancakes." He slides the syrup towards me.

 

Bacon. _In_ the pancakes.

 

Good Lord in Heaven.

 

If he speaks in the next five minutes, I don't hear him.  Everything is salt and sweet and fluff and crunch.  Rolling and crashing on my tongue in a melody of pure delight.  In these moments, when I'm eating, tasting, savoring, it's like the Capitol never existed at all.

 

When coherent thought returns, I pick up his music player and read the singer’s name on the screen.

 

"Who's...'Hannah Montana?'"  He swipes his thumb over the tiny device and the singer's voice fades into the background.

"Someone we don't tell Delly is on my iPod," he smiles.  I've found that there's a public version of my host and a more private one, at least where music is involved.  Whenever I find myself in his orange  truck, he listens to bands with strange names like "Weezer."  This sounds like the peppy, overly optimistic music Madge likes--girls whose biggest problems are self-worth and boys instead of forced marriages and false messiahs.  Romance and clothes seem like such superficial worries.  I wonder what life is like for these girls, with so little weight on their hearts?

 

"She sounds like that other girl.  The one you were listening to last week."

 

"It's the same girl," he loads his fork with the sweet sponge soaked in maple.  "It's--she was on this show where she played a rock star except she had this secret normal life..." his face is turning a weird shade of red as he tries to describe the program.  "It's, uh, a show for kids, but it's actually really good...we'll watch it sometime.  It'll be good...y'know, for the assimilation..."  His phone makes a series of sounds and he's quick to answer its beckon.  Gale has a hilarious theory that if Outside people don't have immediate access to their phones, they go insane.  He watched Delly tear through the house in a frenzy one day when she couldn't locate hers.  Oddly enough, there's only been a  handful of times when I've seen either Peeta or Delly use them as actual phones.  They prefer to type away furiously, sending messages out into the ether. Peeta doesn't do this now, though.  He just stares at the screen with an odd frown before shoving it back into his pants pocket without reply, and loads my plate with two more pancakes.

 

Peeta doesn't tell me where he's taking me--he just tells me to put on plenty of sunscreen.  I bet it's a hike or a run somewhere. Peeta usually asks me to join him on his evening jogs to counter the weight I've put on because of his cheating on my food regimen. I've been on hikes on the Outside before, though.  There are trails behind Victors Village that Gale and I walk during our allotted lunch hour, breathing in the freedom nature brings us.  Sometimes we talk, but most of the time we're content to enjoy the silence of each other's company.  I bet Peeta will want to talk.  He's always pushing the communication part of Dr. Aurelius' treatment, whether I feel like it or not.  Madge called him the soother, but more and more he feels like the pusher.

 

Not only is Delly's car still in the driveway when we leave the house, but Delly is leaning up against the door talking to a pair of long legs sticking out from under the vehicle.  What is Gale doing under the car?!  It may be part of his vocational training.  Effie Trinket said that in time we could receive some sort of training for a job on the Outside.  Gale hadn't told me he had progressed this far. I feel my cheeks grow hot as I stare at those legs.  What is he doing that gets him to stage two?  And why would he just leave me at stage one?  I thought we had promised each other that we would assimilate as a team.

 

Delly kicks at Gale's legs when she sees us approach, and I’m both shocked and relieved to find that the man isn’t Gale after all.He looks a little like my friend: coal-black hair, olive skin and gray eyes. But taller, if that's possible.  

 

"Morning, late sleepers!" Delly chirps with a smile. "Katniss, this is my friend Thom."  He wipes a large, grimy hand on a rag and extends it out to me with a smile.  The sheer height of him makes me feel like a child.  

 

"This is Delly's boyfriend, Thom," Peeta corrects, and the three of them erupt in a tizzy of fast words, Peeta accusing them of being "commitment-phobes" and Delly and Thom volleying back that they "don't like labels."  I watch this circus from the safety of the oak in the Cartwrights' yard.  To think that I'm considered the crazy one out here!  Delly stops abruptly when the phone in Peeta's pants begins its assault again.

 

"Who's texting you so much?"  He mumbles something I can't hear and then Delly has her hand shoved down his front pocket, digging until she brings up the phone.  It didn't take me long to learn that the two of them have no boundaries when it comes to each other.  Her smile of triumph doesn't last long. "Why do you still have this number?" she breathes.  When he doesn't respond instantaneously, she shouts it. "Why do you still have this number, Peeta?!"

 

"So I know when it's her, all right?!" he shouts back.  And then I hear nothing but yelling and watch as Peeta tries to wrestle his phone back from Delly as she types away at a frenzied pace. I'm too busy watching them to notice that Thom has retreated to the tree beside me.

 

"She gets a little high spirited," he shrugs, like he's apologizing for the chaos in front of me.  He's got an odd twang to his voice.  He reminds me of Rooba back home.

 

I pinch myself hard.

 

Looking him over, he's not as tall as I imagine he is.  He's probably got only a handful of inches over Gale, but he's wearing boots and has his hair all brushed up towards the middle of his head, giving him almost a foot extra.

 

"You're not from here," I blurt.  He smiles.

 

"Neither are you."  I shift from one foot to the other, wondering what part of me continues to scream Capitol.  I haven't worn a dress since my first night out.  My hair isn't colored and my face isn't painted, but I've seen plenty of girls Outside who I could easily pass for.  Why is it, then, that one month on I still stick out as a stranger?  Maybe Thom has the key, with his boots and his hair.  Maybe the best way to fit in is to stand out.  I don't think I'm capable of that, at least not yet.  I could learn how.  A foreigner like Thom could tell me how, if I just ask him.

 

"Do you know where Gale is?"

 

"Dropped Gale and Madge off early this morning.  I guess there's a park or something up behind Victors Village?  He said something about hiking.  In any case, we're not set to pick them up until dinner.  Peeta's got Madge's number if you need to get a hold of him..."

 

"No," I grumble, kicking one of the tree's roots with my heel.  "Just curious."

 

"Time to break things up."  Thom hurries over to where Peeta and Delly are now tangled on the pavement, but I can't even hear them yelling anymore.  The trails are our place.  We told secrets up there, made pacts.  What could he possibly want to take her there for?  As far as I know, they were barely acquaintances back home.  Pinch.  She was the one who up and left, and Gale and I stayed and kept each other going.  I belong to Gale, and Gale belongs to me.  He doesn't need any other safety net than me...  

 

If he sits her under the little manzanita tree behind the three boulders, I'll kill him.  

 

Delly's screaming at Thom now as he hefts her over his shoulder and tells us to have a good day.

 

The drive is uncharacteristically quiet.  His phone pulses once or twice more in his pocket, but Peeta leaves it unanswered.  Fifteen minutes on the freeway and I'm the farthest from the house that I've ever been.  We zip past neighborhoods, shopping centers, gas station after gas station.  My eyes remain glued on the great expanse of blue far past my window.  The tide rolling in and slipping out.  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember the feeling of sand sliding between my toes.

 

"We should go to the beach," Peeta murmurs, like he's making his own personal list. He changes lanes so quickly, my grip tightens around the door handle. I need to distract myself from his driving before I give myself a heart attack.

 

"Is Thom from a… a cult, too?" I've been practicing with the word. Dr. Aurelius says it helps break the cycle of reverence. I must be saying it wrong, because Peeta snorts a laugh before swallowing it.

 

"Sorry," he starts, catching my scowl. "It's just really funny if you know him."

 

"And why is that?"

 

"Because he's an atheist." The Capitol Me would be repulsed, ashamed that I couldn't smell the Godlessness on him and touched his hand. Instead, I'm curious how it works with Delly, a girl who's in a pew every Sunday with her family. I can feel a triumphant smile curl up my lips. How's that for adjusting, Abernathy?

 

"Doesn't that make it difficult to be with Delly?"

 

"Not really," he shrugs. "There's room for all sorts of beliefs. They don't make an issue out of it, and it seems to work for them."

 

"What do you believe?" I've never really asked. We say Grace before dinner, but I feel that it's more for my benefit than his. He never goes to worship that I've seen. It's entirely possible that I've been living with an atheist all this time. He mulls it over.

 

"I'm not quite sure, actually. To be perfectly honest, I'm not totally convinced that figuring it out is all that necessary."

 

Huh. I was expecting something a little more definite.

\----------------------------------------------------------------

 

"Our class used to come here on field trips a lot." That's Peeta's reasoning for bringing me to the zoo. I inhale deeply and my brain tells me he's right.

 

"I remember this smell..."

 

He laughs. "I knew it! Some of our strongest memories can be tied to smells and once you smell elephant, well, you never really forget smelling elephant." I actually crack a smile at that.

 

"This is awfully presumptuous of you," I say when he hands me a ticket good for a year. "Didn't it occur to you that maybe I don't want to see living creatures trapped in cages?" He's cautious until he sees me smirking.

 

"It's not that kind of zoo. I mean, there's cages, but it's different." I eye him skeptically. "This is a very progressive zoo, Katniss! Plus, they have otters. You can't hate a place that has otters." He grabs my hand and pulls me to the entrance.

 

We spend an unsuccessful hour in the children's zoo. I nearly suffer a breakdown at the sight of goats in the petting corral. Prim loves milking the goats. Her favorite is a nag she calls Lady. Peeta manages to chase me down in front of a loud, colorful bird who reminds me of Effie Trinket.

 

"This--ugh! What's that word you use that's not a swear?" He sits next to me on the wooden barrier.

 

"Sucks?" he offers.

 

“...sucks,” I mutter, the word still new and unsure on my tongue.  I know it isn’t a true curse word, but I still feel strange using it.  Then the frustration boils up in me again and I don’t care how it sounds. “This sucks, Peeta! None of this is familiar!" I don't even know what any of these animals are. It's like I'm on another planet. The old me probably knew everything about all of this stuff. He shifts his weight awkwardly.

 

"Do you want to go?"

 

"I want to remember!" I snap. "I want my old life back!"  What was the purpose of coming here at all if I can’t recall a thing? After weeks of trying to absorb Outside culture, I’m tired of feeling like a failure.  I know Peeta’s only trying to help.  I know I should be patient.  But if I have any memories of this place, they’re buried under a mess of Snow’s manipulations, and refuse to show themselves.  I feel damaged.  Irreparable.

 

We sit in tense silence. Peeta starts tracing the wood grain with his finger.

 

"Haymitch always says it isn't about getting an old life back," he mutters. "It's about building a new one. Those memories are good to have but if they don't come back for years or even at all, it's okay."

 

“How is that okay?” I sigh.  It’s big talk for someone who hasn’t been brainwashed.  I’m a little  annoyed with him playing counselor like he has any idea what I’ve been through.  He’s just parroting Abernathy, who I could probably actually connect with if he said more than three words to me in a week.

 

“I guess he means that you can’t expect to pick up where you left off.  Your memories can help you remember that you had a life before the Capitol, but getting them back won’t mean you’re completely assimilated.  It’s an aid, not a cure.”  I know that.  I know that I shouldn’t expect to wake up one morning knowing how to drive a car and pay bills or what wifi is.  The longer it takes, though, the longer Prim is behind the Capitol walls, being told that I’m a traitor and a heathen.  The further she’ll slip away from me.  I jump when I feel his hand on top of mine. “Don't push it. Just try to enjoy yourself."

 

We leave the children’s zoo and he leads me down a set of stairs into a dark, cool garden, where lush plants called ‘ferns’ snake their tendrils around handrails. The trickling of water from a tiny stream pushes my worries back into my mind.  

 

“This is part of the old zoo,” he explains.  “I like it here because it’s pretty quiet. Not a lot of people.  My dad calls it the ‘Locals’ Shortcut.’”  I think about Mister Mellark taking his boys to the zoo, watching the animals as a family.  Leaning against the beige concrete barriers or being held up on his broad shoulders...

 

The memory hits so suddenly that it jumps from my mouth without pause.

 

"I like bears."

 

"Hmm?" He pauses ahead of me, gripping the handrail tight to steady himself on the steps.

 

"I LIKE BEARS!" I'm shouting in my excitement. "THE GRIZZLY BEARS!"  

 

Within minutes, we’re standing in front of the enclosure, watching two fat grizzlies play with a fallen tree trunk.  

 

_“Why do you like the bears, little lark?” my father asks me.  I’m leaning forward, digging my fingers into his thick hair to hold on, even though he’s got me securely by the legs._

 

_“Because they’re so silly, Daddy,” I tell him plainly, because it’s obvious.  They’re chubby and fluffy and roll around when they’re itchy.  One of them has found a treat stuck in a log and I squeal as he crams his nose inside to reach it.  Before we leave for the day, my father surprises me with a round, fuzzy bear of my own.  I fall asleep in the car to the sound of him singing to the radio as I clutch my prize._

 

“Katniss, are you alright?”  Peeta’s staring at me with concern.  It’s then that I notice the wetness in my eyes.

 

“My dad used to take me to see the bears,” I whisper.  I don’t elaborate. I can’t.  So instead we stand there in the silence, watching.  I feel Peeta’s hand rest between my shoulderblades, his thumb moving back and forth slightly.  For the first time since I’ve left Prim, the human contact feels nice.

 

Eventually we move along, and, even though the remembrance is painful, it’s an accomplishment.  I no longer feel like the trip was in vain.  After awhile, I even begin to enjoy myself as he suggested. Peeta seems a little disappointed that the otters aren’t frolicking.  His smile stretches across his face when I say that we should wait for a while to see if they come out.  He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a pair of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, one of my new favorites.  Halfway through lunch, two large, cat-like animals emerge from their den, jumping and rolling over each other in delight.  I can see why he likes them.  They look carefree, just like he is.

 

We make our way through the reptile house and down another quiet path, ice creams in hand.  It’s cold and sweet.  It isn’t the first time Peeta’s given me ice cream, but this is softer than the stuff he brings home.

 

"You know, I am kind of upset that you don't remember me." He leans his elbows back against the metal railing and takes a long, spiraling lick around his ice cream. "I mean, you were my first kiss."

 

"What?" That was definitely not true. Even at seven, I would've remembered kissing a boy!

 

"Yup," he sighs. "It was right here, too. At the tortoises. It was...first grade. We were on a field trip and I was running down the hill too fast and banged my head on the railing. I started crying, you know, because I was five, and you came up to me and said 'my mommy says kisses make it better.' Then you kissed me," he points to his temple. "Right here. And that was my first kiss." More than the shock of kissing a five-year-old Peeta Mellark, I'm amazed that there was a time my mother would say such a thing. That there was a time when kisses were the answer instead of prayer. I remember so little of my life before my father died, before my mother went grasping at the straws that brought us to the compound gates. But this boy seems to remember all sorts of things about the girl I used to be. I wonder if we had played together, shared a swing set. If we had been friends before I left the world. He stares at me intently with those sky blue eyes. Leans forward slightly and says, "Katniss, you're dripping."

 

I look down to see chocolate and vanilla pooling over my hand and I work quickly to clean up the mess and even out my lopsided cone. He laughs and pulls a wad of napkins out of his back pocket.

 

"That doesn't count as a first kiss!" I argue, using my soft serve emergency to hide the heat creeping up into my cheeks.

 

"Well I counted it! It was a big, serious deal! I was going to live with you!"

 

"What, in your treehouse?" I scoff.

 

"No, at your house. Your mom sounded a lot nicer than mine."

 

"I'm sure your mom was plenty nice!"

 

He pushes off the railing. "Yeah, well..." he takes the wad of sticky napkins from my hand and tosses it in a nearby trash can. "Hey, let's go to the hummingbird house!"

 

The sun has well set by the time we return to the house.  Peeta treated me to a noodle soup and dumplings at the Japanese garden outside the zoo and I’m still amazed that one: I ate seaweed, and two: I really enjoyed it.  So far Madge has been right about the wonders of Outside food.  Only I don’t want to think about Madge right now, spending the day with Gale in our secret spots.  Taking my place as his best friend.  His room is dark, even after a month outside the Capitol, we still go to bed shortly after sunset.  I don’t feel tired tonight, though.  I’m excited by the memory of my childhood.  It’s like getting a piece of my father back.  Once I relaxed enough to enjoy the day, I realized that Haymitch might actually be right.  Having that memory back was comforting, if not sad, but it didn’t make my assimilation any easier.  What actually helped was forgetting that I was trying to fit in at all.  Looking back on the day, I realize that no one stared at me and I didn’t stare at them.  In fact, I could care less what everyone else was doing.  I guess this is what normal feels like. And I have Peeta Mellark to thank for it.

 

“Are you going to bed?” he asks from the kitchen.

 

“I’m not really tired,” I admit, secretly hoping that he’ll pull some new confection out of the ice box.  But he heads for the pantry instead.

 

“Good.  Then have a seat on the couch.  I’ll be over in a second.”  Why can’t he ever say what he’s planning?  Why does everything have to be a surprise?

 

“What are we going to do?”  He pulls the plastic wrap from a bag and sticks it in the microwave.  I jump at the first pop.

 

“Relax,” he laughs. “It’s popcorn.  It’s good.  Now plant your butt on that couch, Everdeen!”

 

“Not until you tell me what we’re doing!”  I’m actually laughing.  We both are.

 

“We are going to do what every red-blooded American teenager does every night: watch way too much television.”

 

*********************************************************************************************************

We’re three hours into a Hannah Montana marathon when I hear Peeta start to snore.  His chin is pointed at the ceiling, his mouth hanging open slightly.  When I poke his head with the remote, he snorts and repositions himself so the noise dulls to a heavy breathing.  The sounds of other people sleeping used to lull me to my own rest.  Now I turn the volume on the television up slightly to mask him.  I’ve gotten the hang of the remote easily enough and I continue on without him.  I don’t get a lot of the jokes, but I like when people fall down or get caught doing stupid things.  I’m not sure what this says about me.  I do know that no one back in the compound would dare laugh at any of this.

 

I fumble with the controls when I hear the front door open, but all I manage to do is freeze Miley’s face in a comical pose.  Mister Mellark doesn’t miss the glow of the screen.

 

“Hello, Katniss,” his smile reaches the bags underneath his eyes.  “Still up this late?”  I shrug, staring at the device in my hand.  He’s a kind man, although I don’t see a lot of him.  And when he is around, I don’t know what to say to him.  I’ve thought once or twice about asking him how he knew my mother, but usually I just nod or shrug or smile tightly, like now.  He laughs softly when he sees the television.  “I see he’s been showing you the really high-brow stuff.”  Another shrug and smile to the couch cushions.  “Do you like it?”

 

“It’s funny when they wear disguises,” I admit, pulling fuzz off my shirt.

 

“Good,” his smile widens.  “That’s good.  I think, though,” he gently pries the remote from my hand, “that it’s time for bed.  It looks like Peeta has a head start on you.”  Peeta’s head has fallen back and he’s started to snore again. “How long has he been out?"

 

"Couple of hours," I yawn, pulling my knees up to my chest before stretching the stiffness out of my legs. There's a warm, strong memory of Mister Mellark that I can't piece out. Most likely he just reminds me of my own father. I like that he smells like yeast and sugar and smiles easily.

 

"You're gonna be sore in the morning, kiddo," he sighs as he rolls the cuff up his sleeping son's pant leg and starts to detach the prosthetic. "The pressure gets uncomfortable if he wears it too long," he explains, handing me the sturdy metal rod before lifting his youngest up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Do you mind carrying that?” he asks halfway to the stairs, as if he just realized that I might not be comfortable carrying Peeta’s leg.  I shake my head and follow them upstairs.

 

It’s surprisingly warm and light in my hands.  It’s hard to believe that it supports his weight for an entire day.  I think about resting my knee on it and trying to balance. What does it feel like to wear this?  What does it feel like to take off a piece of yourself at the end of the day?

 

I wait outside of Peeta’s bedroom while Mister Mellark lies him on his bed.  There’s another snort and some mumbling I can’t hear.  Then his father’s gentle voice coaxing him back to sleep.  I turn my back when I hear the buckle and zipper on Peeta’s jeans and busy myself by running my fingertips along the various little metal protrusions on his leg.  When Mister Mellark takes the leg from me and wishes me goodnight, I walk to my room with the feeling of warm metal still on my hands.

 

**************************************************************************

 

_There’s a swing set in our backyard.  Daddy built it for me when I was four but Daddy’s gone now.  There was an accident and he’s gone and he’s not coming back.  I want to be gone, too.  But I’m scared to go.  I’m scared that I won’t be able to find Daddy if I go.  I’m scared that no one will take care of Prim and Mommy if I go.  I don’t want to go inside.  There’s too much crying and strangers telling me lies like everything’s going to be okay._

 

_So I sit outside in the cold on the swing where I can be by myself._

 

_But this stupid boy ruins it.  He came with his daddy, who’s still here.  I want to trade his daddy for my daddy._

 

_The stupid boy is in my class but I can’t remember who he is.  He brought really good cupcakes for his birthday and he stares at me sometimes like I’m weird.  He’s the weird one, staring all the time.  I want the stupid boy to go back in the stupid house with his stupid daddy who gets to be here and leave me alone._

 

_But he doesn’t go away.  He sits right next to me.  Nobody asked him to._

 

_He doesn’t stare at me now.  He just holds out a bag while looking at his shoes.  I open it up.  It smells good._

 

_“What’s this?” I ask._

 

_“I helped make them,” he shrugs.  My tummy growls when I smell the cinnamon and oatmeal and raisins.  I haven’t felt hungry in days but I eat the whole bag of cookies right away without sharing.  “I burned some of the edges,” he apologizes.  I don’t even care._

 

_When the bag is empty I remember I should have manners and say thank you.  I even let him sit on the swing next to me until it gets too dark to stay outside._

 

*******************************************

I stare at the ceiling long after I should get up.  When I awoke, I could almost taste the burnt cinnamon on my tongue.  

 

Downstairs, the stupid boy from a lifetime ago is scrambling eggs with one hand, balancing on his crutch.  I take my seat at the kitchen island without a word.  I’m still trying to decide if I’m angry or just confused.  He has to turn so slowly with the crutch that I don’t surprise him like usual; he just smiles and hands me my eggs.

 

“Delly’s taking you today,” he tells me.  “I gotta help Pop with some orders.”

 

“You brought me oatmeal raisin cookies,” I whisper.  He stares at me with knit brows for awhile before he picks up on my memory.

 

“You mean when we were kids?”  I nod.  His grin returns, even wider than before.  “You remembered!  That’s great!”

 

And just like that, I’m angry.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”  All this nonsense about trying to jog my memory and he’s been holding out on me from day one.

 

“I dunno,” he shrugs.  “It’s not the happiest memory.”

 

“It’s my memory!” I’m shouting now, my stool falling to the ground when I stand to confront him.  “It isn’t fair!  You talk about these things that happened like I should know, but I don’t and you know I don’t and you just keep hoarding these pieces of my life!  I don’t care if they’re not happy!  In case you haven’t noticed, my entire life hasn’t been very happy!  And I--how am I supposed to trust you when you hide stuff from me--stuff about my life?  I mean,” I deflate, my head pounding and my insides hurting and my brain a mess.  “Haymitch said you’d done this fostering thing before.”

 

He’s sat through my outburst in silence, but that last remark sets him off.  He jams his crutch up under his arm and hobbles to where my stool lies on the tile. The end of the crutch catches under one of the rungs and he flips the stool back to standing without a word. "I've been doing this almost as long as you've been in that nut house," he mutters, hopping to a bookshelf. "So I'm going to tell you right now that I know more about deprogramming than you do. And as for keeping memories from you," he slams a thick album down on the counter and flips furiously through the pages until he lands on a class picture.

 

“There’s you,” he jabs his finger at my smiling face, “and there’s me.” A jab at the boy from my memory at the opposite end of the photo.  “I think we played together once the entire time I knew you.”

 

“Why would you come to my house?” None of it fits.  Why would a boy who hardly knew me bring me cookies?  Why would I kiss him at the zoo?

 

“Because my dad and your mom were friends in high school, that’s why,” he sighs and I can see his frustration drain out of him. He's probably regretting that "nut house" dig, too.  “Because after your dad--after your dad, your mom fell apart and all her old friends started going to your house to make sure you and your sister weren’t taken away by the state.  But even when Pop would pick you up from school and watch you for a few hours, you barely talked to me.  Not that you should have, you really didn’t talk to anyone.”

 

I stare at my face, my smile before my world collapsed.

 

“Why didn’t you talk to me?” I ask.

 

“Pop told me to just let you be.” He closes the book and hops back to the shelf.  “I thought I understood, because of what happened with my mom.  But I was just a dumb kid.  I didn’t get it at all.”

 

Just like that, we’re done being angry with each other.  Peeta didn’t know I’d want all those sad memories back just like he didn’t know how different our losses were.  And I thought Peeta and I had been friends as children when really our parents were closer than we ever were.  When it comes down to it, we have a handful of hazy years and one month between us.  We were little more than strangers as children, but now I’d say we might even be friends.

 

“Thank you,” I say quietly.  He looks up from his cold eggs.  “Thank you for baking me cookies.”  A smile creeps along his mouth.

 

“Sorry some of them were burnt.”

  
I leave the house already exhausted before the day’s really begun.  But part of me is looking forward to telling Gale all about my reclaimed memories during our lunch this afternoon.  He’s waiting for me now in Delly’s driveway, smiling.  One hand is waving at me.  The other holds Madge’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hannah Montana song Peeta is shamelessly singing is "This is the Life."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to my lovely beta princess starkist.


End file.
